The family calls had left me reeling, adrift in a sea of doubt and frustration. But I wasn’t entirely alone. Claire was my one true anchor now.
“They’ve turned everyone against me, Claire,” I told her over the phone, pacing my motel room. “Everyone thinks I’m crazy.”
“I don’t, Dad,” she said softly. “Not anymore. Not after my dream. We need to do something.”
“We need proof,” I insisted. “Something undeniable.”
Claire suggested we try to reach Mom again. “Maybe we can get her to say something,” she reasoned. “Even a flicker of lucidity.”
It was a long shot, but it was all we had. Claire sent a coded text to Eleanor’s old burner phone, a pre-arranged signal she’d given her mother months ago for emergencies.
Hours passed. I sat staring at my phone, the screen a black mirror reflecting my anxious face.
Then, late that night, a video call notification from Eleanor’s number flashed across Claire’s screen. She immediately called me, patching me into a three-way conversation.
Eleanor’s face flickered into view. Her eyes were sunken, but for a brief, terrifying moment, they held a spark of recognition. A flicker of her old self.
“Mom? Can you hear me?” Claire whispered, her voice tight with suppressed emotion.
Eleanor’s lips parted, a dry, cracking sound. “Claire… Arthur…”
My breath hitched. She remembered us.
“Mom, what’s happening?” I urged, leaning close to the screen. “Are you okay?”
Her eyes darted around, unfocused, then sharpened again on the camera. “The cold hand… it’s always here.”
She leaned closer, her voice a raspy whisper that was barely audible over the static. “The feeding… it’s starting again. The hollow thing… it drinks.”
The words hung in the air, chilling me to the bone. *The feeding. The hollow thing that drinks.* It confirmed Claire’s nightmare. It confirmed my worst fears about the stone basin in the basement.
Suddenly, the video feed began to corrupt. Pixels stretched and smeared, forming grotesque, swirling shadows that momentarily obscured Eleanor’s face. Her eyes widened in terror.
“It knows!” she rasped, her voice choked. “It knows you’re watching!”
Then, with a final, garbled burst of static and a silent scream from Eleanor’s distorted face, the call disconnected. The screen went black.
Claire was silent on the other end, her breathing ragged. “Dad… my dream. It wasn’t just a dream.”
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